


It's good for me, it's good to me

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It sparked."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's good for me, it's good to me

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: New Caprica (post S2)  
> A/N: Happy new year, [**meryl_edan**](http://meryl-edan.livejournal.com/). 2010 words for 2010. Title from "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye.  
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

It isn't really a spur-of-the-moment thing. Sam's been working with Laura for a while now, long enough to think of her as Laura, anyway. Saul is in detention. Galen is home with his wife and baby for once. Kara is gods know where and he's not getting her back anytime soon and he's almost resigned to that. For now, he's sitting down here in the hideaway the resistance has carved out, twiddling with the radio while Laura reads in the only comfortable chair, her feet tucked up under her and her hair bright as a halo under the lamplight.

The radio hisses a sudden rush of static and then sparks and stings his fingers. Sam curses and throws himself back in the rickety chair salvaged from Laura's schoolroom. He sticks the tips of his fingers in his mouth. Laura looks over her glasses at him.

"It sparked," he says, mumbling around his hand.

"I surmised that," she says in that dry, acerbic tone. Sam never knew he was hot for teacher until he was suddenly working with her all the time, but the sarcasm turns him on somehow. Maybe it's the intensity of having her focus turned on him: she's got uncanny powers of concentration. He imagines it comes from corralling a room full of rowdy children, but oddly, that doesn't make it any less attractive.

"It hurts," he protests incoherently.

"Yes, I'd imagine," she says, and puts her book down. She pushes her hair back with both hands and sighs.

Sam takes his fingers out of his mouth and shakes them. Laura raises an eyebrow. He shrugs. "Frakking thing doesn't work anyway."

"Some things take patience, Sam. And a little faith."

"I hope you've got faith for both of us," he mutters.

"I do," she says. She looks down at the book and pushes it onto the floor. "Gods, there's nothing useful in this. _History Of The Cylons And Their Evolution_, my ass. Hell, any child in the Fleet could write a pamphlet that was more useful. And read better." She unfolds herself and scuffs her foot over the book in disdain. When she stretches, even her baggy sweater can't hide her curves.

"How long has it been?" he asks.

"How long has it been since what?" she asks, the sweet arch of her back still taut as she reaches over her head and slides back into the chair, looking content.

"Since the last time you got laid." The words slip out of his mouth as if it's an accident, but he realizes he's been planning this for some time.

"Too frakking long," she says, blowing out a long breath.

"Me too," he says. "What do you say, ma'am?"

"What about Kara?" she asks.

Sam shakes his head and lifts one shoulder, looking away. Laura nods slowly. They've all lost too many people not to understand the need to move on.

"What about the Admiral?" Sam asks.

Laura, unexpectedly, blushes. "Does everyone know?"

Sam shrugs. "It's just a rumor."

"Yes, well," she says, and takes off her glasses. "Nevermind."

"I never minded in the first place," Sam says with a wink, a flash of the game he used to play back in the day. He has that thrill for the first time in a long time, the one he used to feel when he palmed the ball or locked eyes with a woman across the bar. He tips his head, waiting for her assent, remembering watching the ball arc towards the goal.

"Then perhaps you should get yourself over here, young man," Laura says.

Sam pushes himself out of the creaking chair and saunters over to her. She smiles at him. "I think I'd like you on your knees, Sam. I'm not as quick on the draw as I used to be. So to speak."

"Yes, ma'am," he breathes, and reaches up to undo the zipper of her trousers. He works them down her pale thighs and kisses the inside of her knee, nipping her so that she gasps. He stacks her socks and shoes in a heap and folds her trousers across them. She shifts in her chair and slides closer so that he can ease her underwear off. She's trimmed but not groomed; it's more than he expected, frankly, because when civilization falls apart, bikini waxes are the first thing to go, which doesn't really displease him. He hooks an arm around her hips and pulls her further forward, dropping kisses up the inside of her thigh. She hums quietly. He nuzzles the crease of her thigh and then between her folds. Gods, it's been a long time since he had his face between a woman's legs. Kara's impatient and doesn't often suffer him, but he loves it. He loves the feel, he loves the taste, and he loves taking it slow, sensing how close a woman is to the edge, bringing her closer and closer in the most intimate way he knows. He breathes Laura in for a moment, savoring her, and then pushes closer, teasing her with his tongue.

"You're a flirt, Sam Anders," Laura says, looking down through her lashes at him.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and flicks his tongue again, so that soon she's not saying anything that can be distinguished as an actual word except for the occasional "frak". Sam buries his face deeper, relishing her moans and the flavor of her: she's the first real thing he's experienced in longer than he wants to think about. She tastes like a time when life was peaceful and things like this happened more frequently. He licks her clean and circles her clit with his tongue until she's wet again, slick with anticipation. Her moans are high-pitched by then, and her thighs are trembling; her fingers are knotted in his hair and her back is arched.

"Oh, yes," she says, "yes!" Her voice is husky and he doesn't even care if she's thinking of him while she shudders and clutches at him. He leans into her thigh for a long moment, holding her close until she stops shivering, then pulls away and drags his damp chin up her leg.

"Doesn't seem to take that much, ma'am," he says.

"Never let it be said that you're not convincing," she says, panting.

"I do my best," he says. "Always looking for perfection, you know."

"Yes, I saw you play once or twice," she says, sitting up. She strips her sweater over her head and unhooks her bra. "Come here."

"Absolutely," he says, with more feeling than he's experienced in a long time.

She undresses him slowly and thoroughly; he feels like she's grading him, but he's pretty sure he's passing from her appreciative little murmur and the caress of her fingertips as she traces his bicep. He reaches down to unlace his boots and she runs her palms over his back. Her hands are cool, but her touch is electric. As he toes off his boots and socks, she reaches for his belt. He's hard for her before she even pushes his boxers down. She takes a moment to wrap her fingers around him, looking up through her lashes appreciatively as he tries not to whimper.

"You're a tease too, ma'am."

"I've got followthrough," she corrects. "Why am I still wearing clothes?"

He lifts the hem of her sweater and tugs it over her head. Her curves are breathtaking, and nearly a match for the fantasy he's been building in his head for the past few months. She reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra, dropping it with a saucy smirk.

"Sweet lords of Kobol," Sam mumbles, staring at her naked body.

"Flattery will get you anywhere, Samuel," she says.

"I hope that's a promise," he says.

"Sit," she commands, and he slouches into her chair. She pushes his knees together and climbs onto his lap, straddling him. He can feel the wet heat of her cunt against his legs as she sits there primly on his thighs, bracing her hands against his chest. He can't help but reach out and stroke her tits, admiring the way they rest in his hands. She smiles at him and leans forward to kiss him, easing over him. She takes his hand and helps him guide himself in. He groans at the slick pressure of her.

"Don't disappoint me, Sam," she says.

"No chance," he says, drawing her head to down to kiss her again. "I'm not that young, ma'am."

"Thank the gods," she says, tipping her head back so that he can kiss her neck. She shifts her hips slowly, thoughtfully, finding her balance. He moves to accommodate her, stroking her fantastic tits and finding the ticklish spots on her ribs as she presses against him, biting her lip. Knowing that she knows exactly what she wants from him and how to get him builds a fire at the base of his spine; the heat travels up his body until he's light-headed, out of his mind with enjoying her. Shit, if this is what cougars are like, he's been missing out all along.

"Oh, Sam," she says, pushing her knees against the sides of the chair, sinking down lower. She grinds her hips against him, her body beginning to tremble. He grips her hips to hold her steady. The way she's shivering goes right through him; every touch sparks like the wires of the radio, except this is all pleasure and no sting. He won't disappoint her, not if he has to think about multivariable calculus or something else that scared him stupid just looking at a syllabus, but oh, sweet Aphrodite, it's going to be close. Each shock of pleasures and desire goes straight to his balls, and his thighs are tensing under hers. Every noise she makes brings him higher. Laura throws her head back, riding him hard. He sees the flush spreading up her chest. He ducks his head to catch one hard nipple in his mouth and she gasps and moans and comes so hard he can feel the spasm of her muscles. Her whole body goes stiff in his arms and then relaxes.

"Well done," she murmurs in his ear.

"Not done yet," he manages to say.

"Ready, set," she whispers, her lips brushing his earlobe. "Go."

He takes a better hold on her hips, thrusting up into her. She holds onto the arms on the chair, leaning back a little. The way her hair floats out with the motion of their bodies makes her look like an icon in the temple, a goddess of unearthly delights. "Oh gods yes," he says, trembling on the edge.

"I said go, or don't you take orders?" she says huskily, and that's enough to drive him on. She whimpers as his hips meet hers, biting her lip again, sounding half-satisfied and half-surprised as she moans.

"Oh, frak me," Sam pants, collapsing in the chair as she lifts herself carefully off him and curls up in the circle of his left arm, her legs draped across his lap.

"Yes, well," Laura says, folding one arm and then the other against his chest and laying her head on his shoulder. "I think we'll both need a while to recharge after _that_."

"Yeah," Sam says. "Zeus and Apollo, I needed that." The colors in the room are still whirling, and the lamplight seems so bright. He yawns.

Laura chuckles. "Perhaps not the most apt god to thank."

"I saw lights and heard music," Sam says.

"You are being deliberately obtuse," Laura scolds him without raising her head. "But I can't say it isn't welcome, now and again, not to think about what's outside this room."

"Shhhh," Sam says. "Outside this room? That's crazy talk."

"You're right," Laura says, sounding sleepy. "This is what we've got."

"I think we're making the most of it," Sam says, wrapping a curl of her hair idly around his finger. His eyes won't stay open.

"I believe you're right," Laura says, her voice slow and quiet. "We'll call it good enough."


End file.
